


After

by Autar



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Gen, Turin and Beleg deserve better, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22832941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autar/pseuds/Autar
Summary: The sword was piercing something. It was piercing someone’s chest. He couldn’t find his grip on Anglachel but he paid it no mind, too fascinated by the wound to notice anything else. The healer side of him was calculating as he studied the wound. It was right on the heart, too late to be saved. But at the very least, the person stabbed would have an instant, painless death.It took him a while to realize that the person was him.Anglachel’s black metal gleamed along with his red blood.
Relationships: Beleg Cúthalion & Túrin Turambar, Beleg Cúthalion/Túrin Turambar
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	After

The sword was piercing something. It was piercing someone’s chest. He couldn’t find his grip on Anglachel but he paid it no mind, too fascinated by the wound to notice anything else. The healer side of him was calculating as he studied the wound. It was right on the heart, too late to be saved. But at the very least, the person stabbed would have an instant, painless death. 

It took him a while to realize that the person was him.

Anglachel’s black metal gleamed along with his red blood.

 _Turin will be sad,_ Beleg thought, forcing his head to look up. Someone loomed over him. Thunders blaring in the distance. There was a flash of white and Beleg felt like he was going blind.

_It wasn’t his fault. It was an accident. I need to tell him._

Something akin to fear gripped his heart as everything slipped away. _Is this the end?_ He thought to himself. Turin could not bury his body. Beleg was the one who should bury him, not the other way around. Beleg had searched for Turin everywhere, had followed him everywhere, had sacrificed everything for him. They were supposed to be together as long as possible. Beleg had chosen love over his own wisdom. Was everything not enough?

 _Turin will be sad,_ he thought frantically. _He will blame himself. I can’t let him do that._

Beleg tried to grip something that keep sliding out of his reach, be it the edge of his consciousness or his very presence on the world. Everything around him blurred together, the dark night blending into a soft hue of light grey. And when he finally managed to look up, Mandos stared down at him sadly from his throne.

He blinked. The cold fear in his heart grew.

“It wasn’t Turin’s fault,” he blurted out and paused. It was supposed to be a thought. He didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“There is no thought in the Halls of Mandos, child,” Mandos said gently. “And no, it was not his fault.”

“He will blame himself.”

“I’m afraid he will.”

“I…” Beleg trailed off, his gaze strayed down to his open palms on top of his thighs as he sat back on his knees. He was kneeling on the forest floor when tried to cut off Turin’s bond before, damp ground and hard rocks digging into his pants. He was still on his knees when the blade was driven into his chest.

“I was supposed to be the one who bury him,” he continued, the surface of his palms tingling with long lost sensations. Turin’s soft strain of hairs as he ruffled them playfully. Turin’s rough, calloused palm as the man held his hand in his own gently. Turin’s warm, wet cheek as he wiped the tears away.

“It should not be any other way. I was supposed to lose him. I was supposed to grieved for him. I was supposed to be the one burdened by the pain of his passing,” he didn’t know why he kept talking. Was it for clarification or was it a plea? Was he begging for a second chance? But who was he to hope. He was no Luthien.

Or maybe this was meant to happen after all. He wasn’t Luthien. Turin wasn’t Beren. Their destiny didn’t reach that high. They weren’t mean to be together. They couldn’t pull this off no matter how hard they try.

“I won’t see him again,” he whispered, curling into himself. “He won’t see me and he will grieve and he won’t know that it wasn’t his fault, he won’t know that I will always forgive him no matter what he did and I love him. I love him so much. But he won’t know that and it feels really hurt and—“

He couldn’t breath. Why couldn’t he breath? His chest tightened so much it suffocated him. He clutched at it. The air was pushed out of his lungs. Pain, pain, _pain_ , and _“I need to find Turin—_ “

“Child, breath,” Mandos’ calming voice washed over him. Beleg opened his eyes. He didn’t even realized he had closed them. He had bowed down so low his head was touching the cool, hard floor. His sight was blurry, the feeling of numbness and cold filled his hear. When he lifted his head, tears were streaming down his cheeks. He had to blink them away to focus his sight on the mighty vision of Mandos looming over him.

“Breath, Cuthalion.”

Beleg took a deep breath.

It didn’t solve anything, but for a moment everything felt right.

“If what you seek is a second chance, I’m afraid I can’t give you,” Mandos said and Beleg felt himself going limp. “But I can feel your sadness and my heart grieve along with yours. Thus, this is the only thing I can give..”

The valar reached out his hand, gesturing to something behind him. Beleg turned his head—

“Beleg?”

It was a soft whisper, too soft for his hearing to pick up. But nothing hide in the Hallsl of Mandos. There was no voice too low to hear, no thought too deep to be hidden. Even the falling of a feather onto the floor could be too loud in this too wide of a space.

And there was no mistake on that voice. He knew it too well, had seen the owner grow from a mere boy to a proud warrior. He knew what that voice sounds like when it was still high, when it pitched a bit deeper but sometimes high in an awkward way. He remembered when he was away only for one change of a season, only for _a year_ , and the owner was suddenly a head taller with a far deeper voice.

Turin was— _he_ was here.

 _Use this chance well, Cuthalion,_ Mandos’ voice echoed inside his head.

The surrounding changed from the soft never ending grey of the Halls of Mandos into a green clearing at the edge of the lake. The coolness of the floor change into the damp, green grass soaking through his pants. The start of the winter wind tickling his cheeks and he could hear the chirping of birds in the distance.

“Beleg?” The voice was louder now, clearer. Beleg didn’t have the time to move so much as to turn his body around before warm arms enveloped him. Turin felt solid around him and the man weep on his shoulders, tears wetting the fabric beneath. Beleg froze for a moment before he realized that this, everything that was happening right now, was real.

“I’m sorry…” Turin whimpered, tightening his arms around Beleg, afraid that if he let go just for a brief second, if he loosen his hold just for a bit, Beleg would disappear.

The hug—really, it should’ve been hurt. It was supposed to drive all the air out of his lungs, to leave him struggling to breath. Instead Beleg felt warm and content, a painful reminder that this wasn’t a permanent reality nor a second chance. This was just a quick nod to make everything better. Not to repair, no. Only enough to make it more bearable.

Beleg was afraid that Turin’s hands would go through his body any second from now, like air.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Beleg, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to. I—dear vala, what have I done? I killed you. You saved me and I killed you. I don’t deserve you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m _sorry—_ “

It become a mantra now, as Turin keep mumbling to his shoulder and crying. Beleg felt like this was the time for him to say something.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said, trembling hands move to wrap around Turin’s back, pulling him even closer. Turin was hunched over him and he sighed. Looking up at the bright blue sky, he wondered how many seasons had passed since he met Turin for the first time at that winter night.

“You know I will always forgive you, Turin, whatever you did. My death wasn’t your fault, so please stop despairing on it, “ Beleg said softly. Turin smelled of earth and dirt, reminding him of the grass and forest that was his home long, long ago. He took a deep breath and willed the scent to his memory.

“I love you, son of Hurin. And I will always love you even beyond the sea. I will bring this memory of you to the other side and keep it in my mind as fresh as possible until the end of time.”

Beleg pulled back. It was with reluctance for Turin to let him go. He looked straight at Turin’s tear filled eyes and cupped his cheeks. Turin closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. Beleg smiled.

This— _this_ was the boy of whom he had raised. This was the same little boy he found shivering from hunger and cold back in that winter night several years ago. This was the boy who always scowled and glared when Beleg ruffled his hair playfully, yet smiled fondly when he thought Beleg wasn’t looking. This was the boy who had grown up into a man, who had shared countless of cold nights with him, who had saved him through slashes of blades and arrows.

This was the man who Beleg had grown to love and always will be. The man of whom he had sacrificed everything for, had bleed his own life for. And Beleg never regretted any of it.

“Know that I love you and I always will. I don’t want to see you cry for me, Turin. Please don’t cry for me. Live your life and enjoy the happiness while it last.”

Turin opened his eyes. “Beleg—“ was all he managed to say before Beleg moved to kiss his forehead.

And then, the elf faded in his arms like a dream, leaving him clutching vainly at thin air.

It was a farewell. The last good bye. The water of the Ivrin lake glistened under the sun and Turin touched his own forehead longingly.

The last image of Beleg warm smile filled his mind and he intended to hold the memory close until the end of his life.

“I love you too, Beleg, “ Turin whispered into the empty air. The wind carried the voice and let it echoed in the Halls of Mandos, halting Beleg’s steps as he moved toward the door.

He thought about the little boy he had first meet and the man he had left behind.

“Farewell, Turin,” the elf smiled and didn’t look back.

When he pushed the big door open, warm light greeted his vision, and he could hear Turin’s song floating in the air.

**Author's Note:**

> Actually, I dont know how the Halls of Mandos work. They surely have doors right?


End file.
